Morning Blues
by Square1
Summary: She wakes up alone. One-shot, MSR.


_Disclaimer_: Not mine. Never have, never will.

_Author's Note_: This was originally an original story. I altered it a bit, and tadah! Here it is, as a fic. Just don't ask me why they were sleeping on the sofa instead of her bed. Feedback desired.

**Morning Blues**

The sound of the door closing speaks its own, confusing language, whispers the truth into my ear. "The sun is rising." Screw that. At this time of the year, the sun barely rises - least of all when he is not by my side when I wake up. That is not completely true either. The expression "to wake up" means that someone (or something) stops sleeping. Thus, it cannot be used in this context, since I do not sleep on those nights when he is with me. No, I have better things to do. I must memorize his face: each wrinkle on the corner of his eye, the frown, the eyes that are watching dreams, the way how his hair gets more and more messed up every time he shifts, and the his pattern of biting his lower lip. Bite, bite, lick. Bite, lick, bite. Advanced maths. His sighs are music to my ears, more beautiful than the most beautiful love song, more touching than the most touching poem.

The lights of a car driving by light up the room for a few seconds. I attempt to find more warmth under my comforter, but it is not enough to cover my naked body from the coldness of an early winter morning. The coarse fabric scratches my skin as I dig deeper into the sofa, wishing to catch his fleeting scent on the pillow. The aftershave he wore last night was of a new one, spicier and more masculine than the old one. Sexier, if you want to put it that way. It kept drugging me, charming me, flirting with me through the dinner. In the taxi the scent caressed me, whispering promises, words of love, and telling about his plans for the rest of the evening and the night, even though he was sitting on the other side of the back seat, seeming all too uninterested. That expression, however, disappeared the second the door to my apartment closed behind our backs.

Curled under the comforter, I close my eyes and try to remember, what his warm hands felt like on my skin, their exact routes on my back, the patterns he drew with the very tips of his fingers right before he fell asleep. Longing sneaks out from behind other, bigger feelings and squeezes my heart into its cold fist. I try to concentrate on remembering how his soft lips felt like against my lips, kissing my neck and my eyelids. In vain. A little nagging voice somewhere in the back of my head starts with its old familiar speech. If he really loved me, would he not spend the whole night by my side at least once? If he really was not ashamed of me - of us, why does he sneak away from me covering in the darkness like a bloody thief? If he really cared about me as much as I care about him, would it not be as hard for him as it is for me to hide his feelings outside my apartment?

Cursing, I sit up and hold the comforter even closer to me. The digital numbers tell me that it is barely past five in the morning. I glance out of the window, expecting to see nothing but naked trees and darkness. However, there is a perfect snowy postcard image in front of me. A grey squirrel is sitting on the branch of a birch looking at the landscape around it, as confused as I am. Suddenly, an image floods my mind, an image of him sitting on the edge of the sofa right before he left, dressed in his wrinkly suit (we did not exactly have the patience to stop to fold it), with tousled hair, caressing my hair.

A few minutes later I am sitting by the kitchen table in my pyjamas, waiting for the coffee to get ready. It is still snowing, but my attention is drawn to a heart and a single word that have been scribbled on the corner of the newspaper in a hurry. "Soon." Absently, I follow the contours of the heart with the tip of my finger. Soon what? Soon he will dare to show his emotions in public? Soon he will sleep the whole night next to me? Soon he will realise that we have no hope?

The coffee is hot and a bit too strong for my taste. Just perfect for his taste, I cannot help remarking. I sip more of it, while my brain is feverishly working on something. Maybe we do not have any hope, maybe I will never get him, his attention and his love completely to myself, but I have no one else but him - nothing else but him. Still, would it not be better to try to find someone else? Someone, who would not hide me. Someone, who would hold me close to himself in a taxi. Someone, who would sleep by my side for the whole night.

It is still snowing as I left for work. Big, heavy flakes that cling to my hair. My heart skips a beat as my partner runs into the same lift with me. I close my eyes and cannot help but smelling the same aftershave as he had yesterday. As I open my eyes, I see a smiling pair of hazel eyes looking into my own. Without saying a word, he reaches for me and gently touches my cheek. "An eyelash," he mutters. "Make a wish."

I smile without saying a word, and turn my eyes from him, but deep down inside of me, a small voice is screaming, "You! You are all that I want!"


End file.
